


but words will never hurt me

by Milieu



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama & Romance, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Vaguely Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11457135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milieu/pseuds/Milieu
Summary: Everything has gone wrong with Christine's soul bond, and she doesn't know how to fix it.





	but words will never hurt me

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [phandom_meme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/phandom_meme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  "I have been looking for you my whole life."
> 
>  
> 
> (Characters ended up being kind of a meld of original Phantom and Webber Phantom.
> 
> The author does not mind being revealed.)

When the words first appear on the inside of her arms, searing themselves into her skin as though carved by knifepoint, Christine doesn't know what to do other than cry. She is so young, the hole in her heart where her father had been still so fresh after a few years, and she had been waiting oh so eagerly for the words to appear on her skin. She wanted words of love, of comfort, words that would give her an idea of the man who would one day sweep her off her feet and carry her away to a life of love and joy.

_Liar. Viper. Delilah._

These are not the words of a lover. They are words of hate, and Christine can't understand what she has done - will do - to deserve them.

People think that they understand why she suddenly takes to wearing long sleeves every day, but they don't. Not really.

\---

The cruel irony is that when she sees Raoul again after so long, she thinks that he might be the one and the thought fills her with dread. What could possibly be in store for them to draw such poison from his lips?

He kisses her hand and his gaze strays curiously to the dark marks beneath her sleeves, but he doesn't ask and she doesn't offer.

\---

The crueler irony? The fact that she gives herself to him anyway, and when she does, they see each other - really  _see_ each other for the first time, and they have the realization at the exact same time:  _it isn't you_.

And cruelest of all is how he still holds and tries to comfort her, and how she still loves him though she knows it isn't meant to be. They go on, not acknowledging it to themselves or to anyone else, and one day she sees a total stranger's eyes light up as she leans into a conversation with Raoul, and Christine understands that it is over.

Knowing that it was inevitable doesn't make it hurt any less.

\---

Christine meets him at work. She has never seen his face, but somehow she knows his voice.

That's how these things happen, she's been told. Maybe it's destiny, or reincarnation, or just how the soul bond works, but you  _know_. It's finding your other half, the thing that great epics and songs and plays and dreams are made of.

It stings to know that her other half wants her, but does not trust her. She doesn't know why, not yet, but she rubs the covered marks on her arms out of nervous habit.

\---

Late nights working together, quiet confessions, the hint of a smile behind that odd mask he wears. That's how it happens. Christine doesn't know whether she is falling in love, or was already in love, or whether she just wants the  _idea_ of love so desperately that she is willing to make whatever this is into it, but she knows that something has changed.

He lets her touch him. Quick, light touches, just a brush of her hand on his shoulder or his arm as she passes by. He is starting to trust her, almost despite himself, and once again she wonders which of her words could possibly be engraved on his skin.

The dread never leaves her, even as her heart and her nerves tremble with excitement as things develop. What will she do? Can't she possibly stop herself? She would never lie to Erik, she is sure. He knows about Raoul, about her father. He knows her life inside and out. She's certain that there isn't a single detail she's left out or misrepresented.

She can sense that he is growing as curious about her as she is about him, but she tries to hide for as long as she can.

\---

It is the curiosity that betrays her, as she should have suspected all along. Yet another cruel irony: she wanted to prove to Erik that he could truly put his trust in her, but in doing so she might have undone that carefully-built trust altogether.

The mask is in her hand, and she doesn't know whether she is more struck by the disfigurement of his face or the words imprinted on the misshapen flesh. He shoves her away, screaming and spitting venom, and Christine thinks that she feels the words on her arms throb as he throws them in her face. She is sobbing, and she hates herself, and she loves him, and everything in this moment is terrible.

But.

It doesn't have to stay terrible.

As silence falls and Erik turns his back on her, Christine realizes something: she feels free. 

The dread has left her. She spent most of her life consumed by it, afraid of herself, afraid of the other half of her soul, but now that it has happened...

The world hasn't ended. Neither of them is dead or otherwise gone, and they are even still in the same room, impossible as the distance between them suddenly seems.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Christine wipes her own tears away in the absence of someone to do it for her.

She takes one impossible step forward and then another, and she just barely touches Erik's shoulder.

"Leave me," he says, voice hoarse from his outburst. He takes the mask when she offers it but keeps his back to her and does not put it back on.

"No."

His shoulders stiffen in surprise, and he twitches as though he wants to turn to look at her, to try and read her like he usually does. She wonders if it is the first time that she has surprised him, too.

Christine recalls the words on his skin, tastes them on her tongue, and sets them free.

"I have been looking for you my whole life."

She rolls up her sleeves and holds her arms out to him, showing off every word. Even the ugliest insult. Even the most vehement curse. They are both broken, but they're irrevocably linked just the same. Christine can't control any of that, but maybe she can control how this twisted-up love story ends.

"I'm sorry," she says, "for everything. Even the things I didn't do. I can't take any of it back or make it go away, but I can try to make things right from now on."

Erik turns just slightly, enough to read the marks on her skin and enough for her to partially meet his gaze.

"I won't give up on being happy if you don't," she says.

"I don't know what it is to be happy," he mumbles almost petulantly.

But eventually he turns to face her, mask still in hand, and this time she reaches out to him without flinching.

He hesitates, but he manages to meet her halfway.


End file.
